Gargoyles: Salvation, Part 1
by Kabeiroi
Summary: With 36 unruly Gargoyle babies running about, the Guardian sets out to find a disillusioned Awen and begs her to come to Avalon to teach the young Rookies. Awen refuses until Tom says this could be her path to salvation. 1 of 2, to Reawakenings 2.


AUTHOR'S NOTES: Time for the disclaimers: Tom/Guardian, Magus, Princess Katherine, Hakkon and the Eggs are © Disney. Awen, Alba, Alrunes © Chiyome, 2009. This was actually written for my senior high school writing class, so things might be out of order, but it is supposed to be part of my fanfic series.

Salvation

By Chiyome

Tom squinted as the fog began to part; was that a shoreline, or another breaking wave?

Unable to ascertain which, Tom cursed the fog under his breath and drove the staff deeper into the water. Where had he been sent now? He had been on the water for hours, and was frankly getting sick of it. He had better arrive at his destination soon, or he was turning this tub around.

The fog parted again, although unwillingly. As the young man paddled past, the mist curled around his arms like the immense claws of a sea serpent, desperately trying to drag him away from his destination. Unnerved, Tom shook the misty claws off.

Sand grated softly against the hull of the skiff, and Tom's troubled face broke into an elated grin.

"Yes!" he whispered triumphantly to himself, hefting up the paddle as it dragged along the seabed.

Allowing the waves to coast him into the beach, Tom quickly leapt out, his metal-booted feet sinking slightly in the wet sand. Grabbing ahold of the skiff's figurehead, Tom dragged the boat up along the beach, away from the water so it would not be washed away by the rising tide.

It wasn't until Tom actually got his cape on and his sword sheathed did he realize the real challenge of his search; he had never been on Alba before, and the isle was at least four times the size of Avalon Minor. How long would it be before he found the one he searched for?

For a moment, Tom hesitated, feeling the bottom of his stomach give out. Uneasy, he glanced toward the forest at his left, dark and thick and laced with fog. What kind of beasts lived on Alba? He had forgotten to ask the Magus!

Unconsciously, Tom gripped the handle of his sword, and drew it out of its sheath. Sword firmly in hand, he glared defiantly at the silent trees.

"I fear nothin'," he growled to himself.

Ready, Tom marched forward, his raising sword a fraction so he push aside tree limbs and vines. He pushed his way through the undergrowth, occasionally swearing in frustration as his tunic and armor snagged on brambles. More than once he was startled by a panicked deer, and humiliated by a chortling chipmunk, but his concern for the babies and for his dear Princess back on Avalon Minor only drove Tom forward … even when he feared that he had landed on the wrong island.

By late in the morning the fog finally broke, granting Tom access through a field where deer and wild cows and sheep grazed. The herds parted and skirted around him as he passed, and Tom silently reminded himself not to look as a gigantic bull, guarding his herd, tried to stare Tom down.

Luck finally struck when Tom reached the end of the field; a slightly unkempt but broad dirt road greeted him as he broke through the bushes.

The road signs had long since fallen by the wayside, but Tom was able to spot where the weeds along the road disappeared. Digging the signs up was a bit of work, but Tom was soon heading in the right direction.

It had been challenging passing through the dead, silent villages of Alba-with the native Alrunes gone, it seemed as though wraiths glared out from the empty houses-but it was truly frightening to find Falia City, the capital of Alba.

For a moment, Tom paused at the open gates; a porticullis loomed threateningly over the two pairs of immense, heavy doors. Standing before the gates were two, huge, emerald green statues, depicting the Falian patron goddess, Macha, being pulled in a chariot by two winged, roaring lions.

Tom shuddered, then quickly crossed himself; Macha was benevolent to Gargoyles, like the baby Wyverns, and the Alrunes that had lived there, but humans-particularly human males, easily offended her.

And Macha wasn't the queen of war and phantoms for nothing.

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he studied the raven-winged goddess, feeling ashamed of his fear. He was seventeen years old! He was a knight! Not just any knight, but the Guardian of the baby Gargoyles on Avalon Minor, appointed by Princess Katharine herself.

He was the Guardian.

And it was about damned time that he started acting like one.

Drawing in a breath, Tom set his jaw and started forward, keeping his stormy-gray eyes fixed straight ahead, through the gates and to the first set of town houses in the city-

A roar cracked through the still air, and Tom cried out in horror, fairly leaping into the air in shock. Gasping, he wheeled around to face the black woods, his sword raised over his head.

Another roar resounded, echoing forever in the empty city, scaring dozens of songbirds from their perches in the woods.

His heart in his throat, Tom spun around again, gasping hoarsely. What in God's holy name was that sound? It seemed to be coming from all around him!

Something on the battalions above shifted, and a rain of dust and pebbles drummed upon Tom's bare head. Crying out for Saint George to stand by his side, Tom snapped his head up-

_--thwack!!!-_

"Argh!!" Tom yelped, reeling backwards in pain, one hand flying to the welt above his eye, struck by a whip like tail.

Blinded, Tom staggered, struggling to keep his balance and look for his adversary-all right; he never actually saw what hit him-

It screamed again, something hellish and demonic, chilling his very soul. Before Tom could react, a fist connected with his temple, knocking him right off his feet.

"Oof!" Terrified, Tom gasped as his sword flew from his hands, clattering to the cobblestone pavement three feet from him.

His eyes widening in panic, Tom scrambled to his hands and feet, launching himself for his sword.

Moving in a dark blur, the creature pounced, slamming to the ground between Tom and his sword. With a snarl, it snatched his weapon away, then shot away, disappearing from Tom's vision like a bolt of dark lightning.

Wait, wait! The creature had wings, and dark purple skin, the color of twilight. Tom drew in a ragged breath. It must have been-

He gasped, jerking away in cowardly fear as his own sword lashed out, appearing seemingly from nowhere. Knowing that he would die, Tom cried out for Katharine, then braced himself for the killing blow.

An eerie silence settled over the forest, and, slowly, Tom realized that the final slash had never come. Instead, the tip of his sword was now driven into his cheek, drawing a thick line of blood.

The tip suddenly pressed harder, and Tom winced. "Ye've bested me, m'lord," he said, relieved to hear that his voice wasn't shaking too badly. "I yield t' ye."

His rival drew in a deep, hissing breath. "On your knees."

Tom started; the voice was that of a female's.

The pressure of the sword increased, and Tom almost yelped like a baby.

"I _said_ …"

The murderous intent in her voice told Tom that this was his last chance. Swallowing hard, he slowly pushed himself upright on his knees. Waiting until the pressure on his cheek was lessened, Tom glanced up.

She seemed monstrously tall from where he sat. Her eyes glowing red in anger, she snarled at him again, revealing rows of perfectly white, perfectly straight fangs.

Her dark purple and blue wings folded back as her whip like tail snaked around her high, arched, taloned feet. Her clawed hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as a breeze warily rustled through the forest, tugging at her long, black hair, entangling it along her brow horns.

Slowly, the one he searched for drew the sword away, and she stepped back, allowing Tom to stand. Her red eyes faded, returning to her normal green.

But her snarl remained, both threatening and daring Tom to try to attack her.

Finally, Awen snorted. "What are you doing here?"

She couldn't believe it.

Awen stood back by the fireplace, watching as the human ate the dinner she had offered him-a meager combination of stew and bread and weak tea, but Tom seemed to enjoy it, nevertheless.

She sighed, and shook her head in disbelief; this was little Tom? The last time she had seen this boy-well, no, he was a man now-he was ten years old, living in Wyvern with his mother, Mary, under the rule of then fifteen-year-old Princess Katharine and her majordomo, the Magus.

That had been only seven years ago.

Now that Awen thought about it, the years she had spent in solitary seemed to have been painfully long.

"I'm sorry I attacked you," she murmured, taking a tentative step towards Tom. "I didn't recognize you …"

"Auc …" Tom cheerfully waved the earlier assault away, like an irritating fly. "'Tis understandable."

" … and I didn't want visitors," Awen finished. Again, she sighed, and started towards the oven on the opposite side of the enormous kitchen. "You know very well that I am in exile. You shouldn't have come, Tom."

Startled at her words, Tom spun around in his seat to face her, forgetting that he still had bread in his mouth. "How could ye say that, Milady?"

"I said it very easily," Awen said, baring her fangs slightly in anger. She arched an eyebrow at Tom. "The whole idea of exile is to be separate from other people-whether they be human or fey or Danna'ka or whatever."

"But-"

"Hush!" Stifling a growl in her throat, Awen turned her attention back to the oven, opening the heavy, iron cast gate.

Tom swallowed his bread hard. "Hear me out, Milady!"

"Stop calling me that!" Allowing her growl to come freely, Awen reached into the oven and drew out the reheated roast beef. "My name is Awen. And I'm not a lady." To finish the argument, Awen slammed the tray of meat down on the neighboring counter.

The childishness of her actions struck Awen and, for a moment, she stared down at the tray, embarrassed. Of course Tom didn't notice, but she certainly did.

Sadly, Awen closed the oven door.

"I don't deserve titles," she said softly.

For a change, Tom didn't speak. Privately relieved, Awen proceeded to busy herself with carving the meat.

"What brings you to Alba, anyways?" she asked, glancing briefly at the human.

Tom blinked, as if wondering what she meant. Remembering, Tom grunted and smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand (then winced as the lash mark on his head stung painfully). "We need yer help, Awen."

"Is that so?" Awen grunted, turning and placing the tray of meat on the table before the human.

Tom nodded. "Aye," he said, watching intently as Awen drew a chair up to the table. "'Tis about th' babies."

Startled, Awen's head snapped up from her plate, her eyes wide. "Are they all right?"

Annoyed, Tom snorted. "Auc, they're fine. But have ye eva tried t' raise thirty-six baby Gargoyles with no adult Gargoyle around t' make 'em mind?"

Awen grimaced; Seven years ago, a clan of Gargoyles called the Wyverns had been attacked and destroyed in their stone sleep by a Viking berserker named Hakkon. Very few Gargoyles survived the attack, but thirty-six unhatched eggs were left orphans.

Several humans took it upon themselves to care for the eggs; Princess Katharine, the Magus, Tom and his mother Mary.

To raise the Gargoyle children in safety, the humans brought them to an uninhabited island by Avalon.

Awen had herself had helped the humans transport the eggs, but had not joined them on Avalon Minor; emotionally scarred by a life of crime and evil, and devastated by the loss of the Wyverns and of her own mate, Awen had exiled herself back to her home, Alba, determine to atone for her sins. For the last seven years, she had lived alone in the titanic palace of Falia City, busying herself with mending fallen walls and rotting houses.

Suddenly, a horrible thought struck Awen. "Yes, and you're telling me this why …?"

Pausing to swallow his share of the beef, Tom pointed to Awen with the end of a knife. "I want ye t' come home with me an' help us with the little buggers. Help us teach 'em.

"Believe me, I love 'em like they're me own children, but-"

"NO!" Horrified by the thought, Awen leapt to her feet, bumping the table and nearly knocking all of the dishes right off. "No!"

"Bloody hell!" Swearing, Tom dove to catch the tankard of tea before it could shatter on the floor. "Awen, what are ye sayin'?"

"Tom, you couldn't have picked a worse teacher!" Shaking her head wildly, Awen spun away from Tom. "You know what I've done-"

"Awen, 'twas two hundred years ago-!"

"Does that matter? I killed hundred of innocent people and Gargoyles, and you want _me to come and mentor thirty-six impressionable children?"_

"Yer not as evil as ye think!"

"No, Tom! I won't do it; I won't go!"

Furious, Tom slammed his mug on the table and stood up-it was a bit of an effort, as the chair he was sitting on was very high off of the ground. "Awen, we need help …!"

Awen wheeled around, snarling furiously as her caped wings whipped out behind her in a wide circle. "You have a bloody magus there!"

"He's losing his powers!" Exasperated, Tom spread his hands. "We're at our wits' end!"

"Then go and find somebody worthy of teaching children," Awen spat, feeling her eyes begin to glow as her anger rose. "But not me. Not me."

"Awen-"

"I've heard enough!" Snarling, Awen turned and started for the doors at the end of the kitchen.

"Where are ye goin'?"

"The castle needs repairs," Awen muttered, unfurling her wings.

"Repairs?! Awen, ye've lived 'ere fer th' last seven years! Haven't ye finished everything already?"

"No … I haven't."

With that, Awen slipped through the doors, and was gone.

"You have everything?"

"Aye." Readjusting the bundle of blankets Awen had given him on the bottom of the skiff, Tom glanced up. "Ye sure ye don't want t'come?"

Awen nodded, her face remaining hard with resoluteness. "I'm certain."

At the statement, Tom's shoulders fell in disappointment. He sighed, dropping his eyes to the damp sand. "An' I canna change yer mind?"

"I don't think so."

"Well …" He drew in a tired breath. "Katharine canna say that I dinna try."

"Right."

"Well …" Finally giving up, Tom stood erect and held his hand out to her. "God be with ye, Awen."

Awen nodded, smiling weakly as she grasped his wrist. "And the grace of the Daghda shall follow you."

Tom nodded, releasing his grip. "Till we meet again."

"Yes." Drawing in a weary sigh, Awen watched as Tom launched his skiff into the cold seawater.

Catching the skiff's figurehead, Tom hefted himself up into the ship … and paused.

He glanced back up at her. "I'm a lil' surprised, Awen; teachin' the babies would be a step toward yer salvation. Atoning fer one lost life by guidin' another?" He shrugged. "I would've thought ye'd take it."

Shrugging again, Tom hefted up the paddle, driving it in the water.

Awen's mouth went dry and her soul rose with hope; Tom was right. She could atone for all she did by helping the babies.

Gasping, she rushed forward, splashing into the frigid water. "Tom, WAIT!!!"


End file.
